


Forgive Me My Sins

by thearkwrites



Category: Tintin (Comic), Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, age angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-12
Updated: 2012-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-03 12:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/381479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearkwrites/pseuds/thearkwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Age gets the better of Captain Haddock. But it isn't his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgive Me My Sins

**Author's Note:**

> **Rating:** R  
>  **Warnings:** Alcoholism, age difference, angst, implied sex, and a dash of Catholic guilt for good measure  
>  **Summary:** Age gets the better of Captain Haddock. But it isn't his.  
>  **Kink Meme Response**

Prayer brings him little comfort before bed.

Even as a child, Captain Archibald Haddock has never seen the point of the act, nor any other practices espoused by the church. While he certainly has no doubt of the existence of a higher power (if his luck-filled existence is any proof), he simply finds the conventions uninteresting and insipid.

His Catholic upbringing never properly enforced, he never quite grew into it nor does he hold any special affection for it. He simply respects it for what it is but little else.

He is not a man of the faith, but he is a man of the bottle.

The warmth of the whisky that settles in his belly is much more satisfying than that of the knowledge of the mysteries of the Rosary. The taste of perfectly aged wine upon his tongue is sweeter than that of the consecrated host. Hours devoted to selecting which brand to imbibe next was better spent than that of reciting prayers that had long since lost all their meaning.

And alcohol had never looked down at him for the choices he made.

Yet even carousing betrays him every now and then.

There are those times when, after downing entire demijohns of grog like water, the drink gets the better of his wits and the phantoms would come out. He knows, in the back of his mind, that these shades cannot possibly be real. Yet they can strike conversations with him, and he has little choice but to talk back.

Tonight, it was his beloved ancestor, Sir Francis Haddock, who paid him a visit.

He knows it is Sir Francis who stands in the drawing room, before the divan and his outstretched form. The plumed hat and elegant garb are unmistakable. As is the trademark Haddock scowl.

The Captain is in no mood to entertain company. "Leave me be, good sir." he begs.

Sir Francis appears unamused. "You are disgusting." he hisses in contempt.

"I'm just a wee bit soused. I'll get better."

"He is only a boy."

The Captain's blood runs cold.

"He is innocent. You are filthy. Tainted. Obscene."

The Captain feels a great weight on his chest.

"Do you know what makes you dirty, Archibald? Are you aware of why you are the sinful brute you are?" Sir Francis presses on.

The Captain is unable to speak because of the heavy lump in his throat.

"You could have had a woman closer to your age. Instead you chose to…fornicate a boy…a mere child."

The Captain's fingers shake uncontrollably, nearly dropping the bottle.

"And like the debauched degenerate you are, you've sullied his purity with your foulness. It simply isn't enough that you've destroyed your body with all of your vices. Now you have to bring his to ruination as well."

The Captain can no longer bring himself to even look at Sir Francis.

"Tell me, Archibald. How many times have you dipped your calloused fingers between the softness of his inner thighs? When was it last that you had him wrap his soft lips around your manhood? How often did you have him debase himself before you like a common, wanton street whore?" The pride of the Haddocks sneers.

"All of this before he has even turned the tender age of eighteen."

The Captain's grip on the bottle tightens, his knuckles turning white.

"You are selfish and manipulative. A conniver and a libertine. You used your age and wisdom to take advantage of his naivete, to convince him that he could ever love a senescent, licentious deviant like you."

The bottle flies right through Sir Francis. It crashes against the wall and fragments of broken glass fall to the floor.

"You couldn't have a child. So you took someone else's."

"Captain?" comes the familiar voice on the other side of the door.

The Captain regains his senses. Sir Francis is gone but the remains of the bottle still litter the floor.

The door opens. Tintin steps in, barefoot in his pajamas with a worried look on his face. "What's wrong?" he asks.

"Nothing." The Captain replies, voiced weak and small. "Just dreams. Terrible dreams."

But Tintin is able to see through his lies. He tiptoes around the razor shards and sits beside his lover. He wraps his arms around the broad shoulders and the Captain leans into his embrace.

He says nothing but Tintin understands.

Tintin knows.

"I love you, Captain." Tintin suddenly whispers, as if to bring some small form of comfort. "I always will."

The Captain wants to believe him.

A small part of him doesn't.


End file.
